


Worm Food

by Bawgdan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bawgdan/pseuds/Bawgdan
Summary: “He soon felt that the fulfillment of his desires gave him only one grain of the mountain of happiness he had expected. This fulfillment showed him the eternal error men make in imagining that their happiness depends on the realization of their desires.” ~ Leo Tolstoy
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Kudos: 13





	Worm Food

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wondering for some time what it would've been like if Palpatine had found Anakin before Qui Gon Jinn. I mean, this short fic isn't an entire representation of that. I think it would require a lot more brain power and brain storming that I simply don't have the mental capacity or time for. Maybe one day, like I always say with all of my fics. I really would love to write a long-fic playing with the idea. Or maybe I'm just a drama cow who loves the evil bad guy, pure good heart princess trope. Anyway, I hope you like? It's not a completed idea. Thank you for reading. Errors I missed I will fix later.

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All politicians are liars. His master hadn't verbalized it, but it had been the most integral lesson of his discipleship. Sheev Palpatine tells half-truths and well crafted lies. _Such is the sport of it all_ —that's what Palpatine says when Anakin challenges the matter.

Anakin doesn't fit in with the men in their big sleeves and draping coats. He maintains an indifferent glower when he is offered something to drink by a servant with one, large eye in the center of her head. A single sprig of hair curling from her scalp.

"Posturing is an art-form, Skywalker. Not always a talent, but a skill that can be perfected with enough determination." Palpatine takes the thin flute of red contents. His sleeves are also large and puffy. The few stands of hair on his head neatly smoothen, comb lines still defined.

"You are more attuned to these sorts of gatherings, Master. I prefer not to be a man who talks all day in hopes for validation." Anakin might be a warrior, but that hopeful boy from Tatooine is still hidden deep inside of himself. This tiny essence he has purposefully tucked away from Palpatine.

 _A great stubbornness swells your cheeks_. Palpatine had said to him years ago but not many.

"You will learn. It is not a brusque demeanor that convinces people to believe in you. It is charm. The hardened exterior must be coated in a softness." Palpatine brushes a stray thread from Anakin's dark dress coat.

"Palpatine's softness must be of a thick substance. Who even is _Sidious_?" Anakin keeps his hands folded behind his back.

Palpatine gingerly sips from the flute. The red stains his pale, crinkled lips.

"You lack good-sense and patience." The old man grumbles. Anakin feels a sudden wash of dread. It causes the muscles in his neck to twitch. His throat constricts and pressure balloons behind his eyes. Palpatine strangles him in room full of people with the force.

Anakin shouldn't be surprised, but he is. He is always surprised when Palpatine disciplines him.

"Chancellor!" A man whoops from the opposite side of the hall. Palpatine drops his invisible grip. The pressure building behind Anakin's eyes subsides, yet it leaves a faint pulsation in his ears.

Palpatine flutters away to parley with the familiar people he cares very little about. Anakin watches his robes glide across the white marble floors. Anakin hates Sheev Palpatine and loves with the same amount of effort.

The older he gets, the less he thinks about his mother. He's forgotten what her face looks like. He tries to conjure up a memory but all he can think of is smoke. As though all of his good memories are hiding from him with purpose.

Anakin storms through the broad shoulders. He needs fresh air. A cool breeze could blow away the smoke fogging his mind. When he steps out onto the wide balcony, the wind sweeps across the marble pillars with a cold whistle. To no avail, his head is full of thick nothing. He curls his hands into a fist. The wind comes down hard again and he shakes violently.

There is no word, in any language that he is aware, that describes feeling dejected but lacking the desire to cry. Has he ever cried? He is unable to remember.

"I'm less lonely now." A woman's voice interrupts his stream of bitter thoughts. Her footsteps stop beside him.

"What?" Anakin frowns down at the tiny woman. She is dresses just as, if not more, gaudily as the rest of the flock.

"Clearly I'm not the only one who is easily bored to tears by the witticisms of old men." She retorts flatly. Her sparkly lips pressed in a thin line. Her dark hair twists and falls in the most intricate and confusing fashion. Lot of curls. Shiny pins that sudden flickers of light bounce off of. She's got a head full of sparkles—Anakin thinks to himself.

"Old men do talk a lot." His brows furrow.

She leans over the balcony. Her backless dress exposes the tensing muscles.

"A lot about absolutely nothing. Never having any concern for anyone but themselves and their status." The woman sighs. Anakin becomes aware of her breathing, up to the point where she starts to speak again. He follows the rhythm of her inhale, breathing in, holding it the same way she does. "Sometimes, I wonder...what's the point? Is it my determination or unchecked naivety?"

"You're a politician?" Anakin's tone doesn't lilt with curiosity.

She straightens her posture, turning her head to look up at him. Then she nods. The spirals of curls around her face bobbing.

"I don't think it's possible to be a politician and naive." Anakin has been around enough of them to know. Cunning and naivety, he's never know both to exist in one person. Cunning folk can have short-sightedness, of course, but never naivety.

"What makes you so sure?" She is too chatty for a stranger. Anakin swallows the saliva filling his mouth.

"Politicians start wars, therefore they know darkness. Once you've acquainted yourself with bleakness..." Anakin doesn't know how to finish. It makes sense in his head. Palpatine always tells him he is growing into a man sparse of words.

"I know what you mean." She lowers her chin. "But..."

Anakin wishes that he weren't so interested in her _But_. He hates politicians. A pretty one shouldn't change his mind. He isn't naive. Not even in the slightest.

"I know sadness, but I'm not exactly sure I know darkness. I see it but I have yet to really know. Can sadness and darkness be the same?" She squints out into the dark sky. The bright fabric of her dress sweeping around her body.

"I'm not sure." Anakin hasn't thought about it.

A tedious silence follows after. The politician stands with an erect spine, looking deeply vexed or contemplative. Her cat-eyes narrow. The breeze blasts directly against their faces.

"What is your name?" Anakin will never not be curious.

"Padme." She says it like he should've known it from the start.

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End file.
